The Revolution Will Be Televised
by Lord 0f Storms
Summary: AU in which Haymitch enters the Quarter Quell alongside Katniss.
1. Chapter 1

**The Revolution Will Be Televised**

A/N: AU in which Haymitch takes his place in the Quarter Quell, so that he can make sure Katniss is rescued and delivered to the rebellion.

...

Unfortunately, Haymitch could hear Snow's words with perfect clarity. The one time he should have been drunk out of his mind, and he was completely sober, rooted to his seat as the words sunk in.

It hit him in stages. His first thought wasn't even a thought – it was some innate reaction of his body to gag, lunging forward and dry heaving until his throat felt hoarse. A Quarter Quell. A fucking Quarter Quell. Not him, not again. Images tried to push into his mind of gaping wounds and charred bodies, people dead at his hands... the smell of blood and viscera, the screaming. Maysilee Donner always seemed to scream loudest in his head. He could picture her perfectly when he was sober.

Haymitch lurched to his feet and crashed about his living room, searching for a drink. There wasn't much around these days, but damn it, he'd drink toilet water right now if someone told him it had alcohol in it. He needed something to numb his brain, to block it all out.

His hand was shaking as he snatched a half-empty bottle of white liquor and threw the liquid down his neck. It burned, satisfying, and he kept going until he started to feel calmer.

Once his breathing had steadied a little, the second realisation hit him – there were only three victors in District 12. Haymitch, and his kids. Those damn kids who'd forced him to take a chance on them, to start caring again. He still couldn't believe his luck that not just one, but both of them had survived, and now the Capitol wanted to rip it away. He couldn't even do anything for Katniss, she was the only girl who'd survived in years. How she was reacting right now, he had no idea. Honestly, he couldn't do anything for either of them. He was a wreck, a mess, just like every other victor.

Haymitch took another gulp of alcohol. He tried to tell himself he shouldn't have started caring again, that he should have stayed blind drunk through their whole Game. Would they have chosen this specific type of Quell if both Katniss and Peeta were dead, never trying their trick with the berries? A selfish part of him was glad he wouldn't have to return to the arena alone, but the better part of him – the one those kids had forced him to acknowledge – wanted to scream in frustration and anger.

He didn't scream though. Instead he took another drink, and then another, until he could barely feel anything at all.

...

On top of the worries about the Quarter Quell, the last thing Haymitch really needed was to embarrass himself in front of the kids, but it seemed destined to happen anyway.

Peeta seemed to have turned into Thread's equally tyrannical little brother, with forced marches, constant press-ups, weight-lifting, knife-throwing, staff-sparring. Haymitch hadn't realised just how far his physical fitness had deteriorated until he was confronted with it like this. He could barely run without wheezing like an old man, and although he could still lift a decent amount of weight, it made his muscles tense and burn much sooner than it once would. As for knife throwing... the less said the better.

He was beginning to feel seriously concerned about his chances in the arena. He had experience and a hardened personality, but that only got a tribute so far. Even without his poor fitness, the shaking and weakness that came from lack of alcohol was draining both his energy and his good temper.

The boy kept pushing him though, forcing him to do more press-ups when Haymitch just wanted to lie on the floor and sleep. Maybe by the time the games arrived, he'd be able to beat a five year old in an arm wrestle. It'd be a long time until he was able to match up to Katniss and Peeta though. Trouble was, Haymitch had been thinking of himself in terms of how he had been as a tribute. Once a killer, always a killer, right? Well, unfortunately, he had to come to terms with the fact that right now he was more of a liability than Peeta.

"Come on, five more!" Peeta instructed, sounding far too authoritative for Haymitch's liking. If his arms would just stop shaking, he'd get up and throttle the boy.

"Lay off, Peeta," Katniss grumbled, resting on her haunches with a weary expression.

"We need to be strong enough for the Games," he argued. "Those other victors will have far more experience than us, existing alliances, and they'll have coached others through maybe a dozen other Games." He didn't add that Haymitch had probably slept through most of them. "We need any edge we can get."

"He's obviously not in any state to exercise, so we might as well just stop for the day."

"I know it's tiring," Peeta replied in a placating voice. "But we don't have much time. I think improving our endurance would be a priority. Maybe if I'd been stronger, Cato wouldn't have been able to wound me in our last Game. I can't let something like that happen again."

"You're strong enough to beat down a house, he was just more..."

"More experienced? More skilled?" he persisted. "Exactly, we need to level the field."

"In a few weeks? They've been doing this for years!"

"Shouldn't we at least try?"

"Will you two shut the hell up?" Haymitch snapped. Both faces whipped round in indignation. "Bad enough you steal my drink, now you're trying to give me a headache with your yammering." He turned to Peeta. "We get it, you want to prepare, that's great. Maybe when you take a look at the previous wins of the Games though, you'll see that isn't everything. You've got to use your brains in there, and right now mine just feels like mush." He looked at Katniss. "And why are you so quick to dose me up with drink again? And yourself too? Don't think getting yourself started on that is the best way to start the Games, sweetheart."

She gave him a scowl. "At least if I'm flat out drunk, I won't have to watch you faint after running three paces."

Katniss stomped off, leaving them alone. She had her own style of exercising, and it didn't include a wheezing drunk or an overbearing boyfriend.

Haymitch's gaze flicked to Peeta. "I know you're just trying to do your best, but I'm not cut out for this anymore."

"Hopefully you won't end up in the arena, and it won't matter," the boy replied carefully. He'd probably guessed that Katniss has come to see Haymitch to try and make a deal for Peeta's safety, just as he'd done for hers. "You need to be sober this time though, so you can help me out. I figure it's time for you to work with me since you favoured Katniss last time."

Haymitch smiled. "Don't worry boy, I'll pay you back for that one." But he had his own way of settling debts, and it wasn't by watching the other person die.

...

The reaping was a complete and utter joke, but they had to act out the farce as usual, right down to Effie scraping around the reaping ball with trembling fingers to catch Katniss' name slip. The girl didn't even react as her name was called out, she just moved automatically, staring dead ahead, seeing something they couldn't. The crowd was completely silent, the only sound was Katniss' little sister sobbing.

Now Effie was reaching into the ball for the male tribute. She drew a slender slip, and with a voice that broke on the last syllable, read "Haymitch Abernathy."

"I volunteer!" Peeta said immediately, and Katniss caved in on herself, as though receiving a mortal blow.

For a moment, Haymitch hesitated. Maybe, at one time, he would have jumped at the chance to volunteer for someone he loved, to spare them from the Games, like Katniss, or to protect them whilst trapped in it, like Peeta. He wasn't that person now though. Years of drowning himself in alcohol had made him weak in body and mind.

The funny thing was, part of him wanted to die – it had done since he'd killed his first tribute. Since he saw Maysilee die and did nothing to help. Since the nightmares, howling and screaming in the dark and him with nothing to protect himself. But he didn't want the Capitol to be what killed him, he didn't want them to have the satisfaction. He'd stopped fighting them years ago, but these kids had reignited that spark. He'd die in the arena if he had to, but it would be on his terms, not the Capitol's. It would be protecting Katniss and Peeta, and not because he was cattle to the slaughter. He looked at Peeta's defiant expression, Katniss' despair, even Effie, failing to fight back tears.

"So do I!" Haymitch declared, in that obstinate, infuriating way he excelled at.

Peeta looked thunderstruck. "You can't, I'm volunteering for _you._"

"I know, and I'm volunteering right back. I guess that means it cancels each other out, and I've got my one-way ticket to the Games."

"That's not how it works!"

"Really? How about we ask out resident expert on the games, hmm?" Haymitch turned to Effie with a sense of grim satisfaction. "Well, sweetheart? Can I refuse to let him take my place?"

She blinked for a moment, looking uncertain. Victors had never been sent back to the arena before, and there had only been two Quells before this.

"Don't do this Haymitch," Peeta said desperately, his voice barely above a whisper. Katniss was looking at him with eyes full of pleading, and it gave Haymitch the final push he needed.

"I'm doing it. I'll be District 12's male tribute."

"No!" Peeta exclaimed in despair, "I'm–!" Haymitch turned and slugged him across the face. He was rundown but still strong, and the kid was knocked out cold. He couldn't protest while he was asleep, and Haymitch gave Katniss a grim smile.

"Guess it's decided then."

Katniss clutched her face, relief and sorrow and fear warring for dominance. Eventually, she managed a weak smile, and Haymitch knew he'd made the right choice. One of them was safe, but that was the easy part. Now he had to ensure his girl on fire survived no matter what.

...


	2. Chapter 2

The night was always the worst, and Haymitch never slept then. In the dark, he felt blind and suffocated. He felt teeth on his skin and heard the screams of other tributes as the wildlife hunted. It had seemed so beautiful at first. He should have known, the Capitol always corrupted beauty, turning it into something grotesque.

Sadly, it seemed like the train was empty of liquor. He'd scoured the lounge area in search of a drink, but found nothing. His own meagre supply had run out, and he wasn't sure how he'd sleep without it. At least the shakes weren't so bad, and he wasn't hallucinating.

A slight glimmer caught his eye, of light on glass, and he was rewarded with a bottle of wine, tucked behind a selection of books. He knew Effie had forgone her wine, but the Avox servers hadn't put it in any of the cupboards and it was driving him nuts.

As he took a swig of the red liquid, he caught a snatch of sound. A scream. Haymitch froze, a sudden tension building in him.

No one had reacted to the sound, but it couldn't be from his own head, could it? He only heard those when he was asleep.

The scream came again, and this time he thought it was coming from down the corridor. He followed it, suspicion mounting as he reached Peeta's room at the end. The door was ajar just a crack, but Haymitch didn't need to see to know what they were watching – he'd know Maysilee Donner's scream anywhere.

The hardest part of watching Katniss and Peeta in the Games had been knowing that only one could live. Katniss had seemed like the better bet, and he'd hoped that Peeta would die far from her, to lessen the trauma. When the boy had almost died, Haymitch had backtracked on his decision to help only one of them, and gathered the money to send Katniss some sleeping agent. Watching his former ally die was one of the hardest parts of the Hunger Games, and he couldn't see it happen to Katniss. It was bad enough with the District 11 girl, but someone from your own district, who you might have passed at school, whose parents might know yours – it was different.

Haymitch had thought occasionally that maybe Maysilee had deserved to live instead. If she had been a mentor, could she have kept those tributes alive? Or would it have eaten her up worse than him? She'd been clever and resilient, but she'd never figured out the trick with the boundary. If he'd died, would she have even won? He hated mulling on these stupid questions, but they often came back to him, just like he wondered if he should have used the boundary to kill his final opponent. It had seemed such a good idea, a trap no one could suspect, but he hadn't anticipated how much the gamemakers would hate it.

Watching Katniss pull out those berries was like history repeating itself. Haymitch saw too much of himself in the girl to just watch her die, especially when she might be the key to blowing up this stupid system. And Peeta was a good kid, he deserved the chance to preserve some of his decency instead of being thrown into the arena again. There was only so much bad he could do in the name of protecting Katniss before it started to eat away at him.

Haymitch wanted to turn back down the corridor and leave, but he had to see their faces. He wanted to know their honest reactions to what he'd had to do.

The pair watched as a younger version of Haymitch fling himself onto the ground, bleeding out, waiting for the axe to come shooting back up and kill his adversary. The moment it hit, Katniss gasped.

Peeta spoke first. "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." He sounded shocked, but not disgusted, simply... surprised. The boy was clearly surprised that the old mentor was capable of such cunning. Or subversive behaviour.

"Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," Katniss said, approving, and maybe a little awed. "You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!"

She burst out laughing, a good laugh, from deep inside. Haymitch felt something lighten to hear it. It was a strange thing, having to carrying around that sense of guilt and disgust at yourself, while other people told you that you were magnificent for killing and surviving. The regret for his action with the force field had always been sat in his mind, the way his family had been punished for it. Knowing that there was a person here who understood that feeling, understood it so well that she was laughing her head off like a lunatic... well, it helped.

"Almost, but not quite," he said, causing them both to jump like they'd been caught in the middle of something guilty. Did they realise how Haymitch might feel about them watching it? Didn't stop the nosy kids though. He smirked and took a drink, and the warm feeling growing inside him wasn't entirely due to the alcohol.

...

Haymitch had been allocated Peeta's old prep team, and he wasn't giving them an easy time. The people of the Capitol loved watching him stagger around drunk on their TVs – falling off stages, shouting deliriously and planting sloppy kisses on Effie's heavily made-up face – but for the Games, they wanted to remember the pretty, fresh faced boy he had once been. Before years of dealing in their bloodbath had crushed him completely. Well, Haymitch didn't feel all that obliging. They had made him what he was, so they could damn well enjoy it.

To be honest, they were off to a bad start from the moment they entered the room.

"Haymitch Abernathy!" one of them scretched, a monstrosity with over-large eyes, jewel-encrusted skin and mile-high green hair. "I can't believe I'm going to be working on a legend!"

"Ooh my," cooed another, this one with a skin dyed blue and feathery hair. "You are in a state, aren't you! Look at that hair, the stubble, the _fingernails!_"

They carried on like this for several minutes, and Haymitch shot down several of their ideas, including their dreams of obliterating his age lines. He also refused to have his hair shorn, so they had to make do with trimming the ends to rid him of the split ends and blowing it back from his face. He allowed his eyebrows to be tweezed and fingernails to be treated, but drew the line at them tampering with his teeth.

"It's time to shave your stubble," the jewelled one said, with the same bracing voice someone might use to announce they were going to jump into a lion pit.

"Get on with it," he groused, taking a quick swig from his flask before the overgrown birds started smothering his face in shaving cream. He might be lazy with it, but shaving his face was the one concession he made to decency. Besides, washing vomit out of a beard was really pretty disgusting.

The one with the jewels edged closer with the razor blade, looking at him with concern. Maybe it was the expression on his face, or his rigid posture, or the fact he couldn't take his eyes off that blade. He really didn't like the idea of people approaching him with sharp objects.

Haymitch took another gulp of alcohol and let them get to work. He'd been trying to cut down since he realised he would have to become a tribute. A shaking and hallucinating old man was the last thing Katniss needed in the arena, and Peeta would be making sure his gifts kept her alive, not supplying Haymitch's habits.

To say it was hard was an understatement. He'd had this addiction longer than he'd had the ability to grow a beard. Maybe it was a miracle it hadn't killed him, but it didn't feel like much of a miracle. More like a huge joke.

The colourful birds were yapping again, reminiscing about his last Quarter Quell. Excellent. That was exactly what he wanted to listen to.

"Neither of you look old enough to remember my Games," he snapped at them. Didn't put them off-stride for long.

"Oh, I bought a copy of course!" said the blue one. "I've got all the best victors in my collection, especially the good looking ones!"

Haymitch gave the stylist a flat look.

"Oh, silly me, don't worry, you'll look just as handsome as you used to by the time we've finished!"

"Oh good, that'll put all my worries to bed," he replied scathingly. The freaks exchanged a glance as though they weren't sure how serious he was. These people. They were the biggest joke around, but they had no sense of humour at all. Irony.

He glared at the blue one so hard that the razor slipped and cut a fine line in his face. Haymitch flinched, and the stylists jumped backwards.

"I'm so sorry!" squealed the blue one. "I didn't mean to, I just... let me get that cleaned up."

"I've had worse, remember?" he spat, furious at himself for overreacting to the cut, to the burning and the feel of blood leaking out of him. "Maybe you should go back home and watch my Quell, relive the glory fifty times over? I know I do every night."

He'd said too much. It was so much easier to act like a callous drunk than admit how badly the Hunger Games had affected him. Not just his own, but years and years of watching children die, unable to do anything. And now this new Quell, it was the final straw.

He couldn't sit there anymore. Haymitch shot to his feet, eliciting a frightened squeak from the jewelled one, and stormed out of the room. He wasn't here to sit in quiet terror and let hideous strangers paw at his body, to prepare for interviews to entertain a thoughtless populace, to worry about his impending death and looking appealing to sponsors. This time he had work to do before he entered the arena.

...

A knock sounded on Haymitch's door. He eyed it warily, wondering which of the kids had reason to talk to him now. It wasn't likely to be Katniss, she'd been avoiding him since the moment he'd agreed to be a tribute. He got the sneaking feeling that she might feel guilty, but what she didn't know was that Haymitch understood. He was an old wreck, and she was in love with the boy – why wouldn't she want Haymitch to be a tribute instead?

That only left one person.

"Come on in, Peeta."

The door slid open, and the boy entered. A determined expression sat on his face, but Haymitch knew the kid too well. He could do short bursts of anger, but he didn't do it well, and he couldn't bull his way through an argument to save his life. Peeta could, however, twist the conversation to make Haymitch feel incredibly ashamed of himself, and that wasn't fun for anyone.

He caught himself reaching for his bottle, and stopped. Later, later was better.

"Something wrong, kid?" Best to air it quickly.

"Wrong?" he asked. "How about the fact you agreed to let me volunteer, and then when I do, you knock me out cold?"

"I never agreed to let you volunteer," Haymitch replied pleasantly. Or as pleasantly as he could. "I just agreed to help Katniss win, and I figure that's best done by keeping you out of the arena. Let's face it boy, that girl doesn't need your dead weight dragging her down."

Peeta coloured, but to his credit replied with, "I don't think you're exactly in any condition to be going in either." He gestured to the bottle of liquor by the chair. "What happens when you're without that in the arena? Or when you need to run from danger and you run out of breath? If Katniss tries to help you, she'll get killed!"

Haymitch clapped his hands, grinning, and the boy looked at him like he was mad. "There we go, now we're getting to the point! Katniss isn't going to stop and help me, is she? She'd throw her life away to stop you doing something dumb, but there's no way she'd extend me that courtesy."

"Katniss likes you," he replied stubbornly. "She wouldn't leave you to die."

"Maybe not if she could help it. But she wouldn't try something futile like she would with you. You're a distraction, Peeta, and she was pretty keen on the idea of keeping you alive at the expense of both of us. You can do a lot more good as a mentor, especially if you pull out some of that smoothing talking." Haymitch gave him a grim smile. "Plus, this time you get to play favourites. Promise I won't hold it against you."

"I'm not going to let you die either," Peeta said. "Not unless there's no choice."

Haymitch reached for his bottle. "Now you kids just wanna make me cry."

"Can you tell me what you know, so I'm ready?"

"Sure thing. Tell you what, let's find somewhere with a lot of fresh air. This room's too stuffy for thinking."

The boy took the hint, and headed up to the roof, where Haymitch knew he and the girl came for their alone time. He felt a little weird being admitted to their sanctuary like this, but he supposed the strange bond between the three of them allowed it.

"What is it?" Peeta asked curiously.

Haymitch eyed the gathering dusk, its fiery glow as the sun sunk. "I'm not planning on Katniss winning the Quell. And before you start complaining at me, I'm not going back on my promise. I plan on getting her out of the Game before it can come to a winner."

"How?"

"I'm not sure yet, not until I can get into the arena myself," Haymitch admitted. "They're bound to have changed the force fields since I was last a tribute, but there'll still be weaknesses. If we can bring the whole thing down from the inside, we stand a chance of escaping. We can get Katniss out in the confusion."

Peeta smiled. "Sounds risky, but I like it. I really don't think she wants to be forced to kill again. I'm glad that I don't have to," he added, sounding slightly guilty.

"Don't think I've given you the cushy job," Haymitch warned. "You'll be our only contact outside the game, and if the gamemakers figure out what we're doing, it's going to get messy. There's someone on the inside here though, a rebel. They'll make contact with you when they need to. Maybe through Darius."

"And the Avox girl," the boy added. Haymitch nodded. He wasn't sure what was going on with her and Katniss, but he trusted Peeta's judgement. The boy was smarter than people gave him credit for.

"Don't mention any of this to Katniss," he warned. "If she thinks we're planning to rescue her, she's likely to go all martyred on us and ruin the whole thing. First thing we need to do though is make alliances. Luckily, all those years spent drinking with other victors has given me a bit of an advantage there."


	3. Chapter 3

It was a strange atmosphere as the victors waited to be sent to their chariots. Old friends were conversing, old alliances re-forged. Haymitch would have to get to work quickly.

Katniss was trying to avoid everyone, in her usual style, but she should know better. She was a mystery to most of these people, and though they didn't want to admit it – an icon. Most of them had won their Games through brutality or sheer fluke, but she had manipulated the gamemakers, and every victor here knew of her significance to the rebellion.

After only a few minutes, Finnick Odair was approaching, and the girl eyed his half naked body like she thought he might bite. Costume or no costume, that girl was innocent-minded for sure. It was strange that someone who could overcome the horrors of the game would be so uncomfortable about a bit of skin.

Haymitch spotted Peeta further away, talking to some of the other mentors. A couple of them were even as young as the boy was. He turned his own attention to the District 11 tributes, Chaff and Seeder.

"Haymitch, my friend!" Chaff explained, grabbing him by the arms for a moment before Seeder gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I almost didn't recognise you!"

He snorted. "That's probably because those kids have forced me to stay sober. Mostly sober."

"Wise kids," Seeder observed. "You'll need your wits about you in the arena. I don't think that was what Chaff meant though. Your stylists have done a good job."

Haymitch glanced down. He was just wearing a simple black jumpsuit, nothing obviously flashy. Portia had said to wait until they were on the chariot before switching them on. They were also to look aloof and disdainful of the crowds, which he figured both of them could manage perfectly. He imagined the crowns probably helped. His was engraved to remind them that he was the winner of the last Quell, while Katniss had a wreath of metal flames.

"You look years younger," Chaff said, nodding.

Oh, the make-up. He knew the prep team had covered his face in various creams. Portia had forbidden them from surgically making him appear younger – though he wouldn't have let them try it – but make up was deemed acceptable. At least he could wash that off at the end of the night. With his face covered in make-up and his hair swept back so it didn't fall in his face, he supposed he must look more striking than usual.

"No fire this year?" Seeder asked.

"No. I guess someone realised fire and alcohol don't mix," Haymitch replied, and Chaff burst into a laugh.

"Certainly better than some of these outfits, I look as though I've been rolling in the fields." The other man gestured to his weird suit of wheat, which make him look like an aging scarecrow. Seeder's wheat dress looked a little more distinguished, but that might just be the woman's naturally dignified presence.

"I'm just glad we're not naked and smothered in coal," Haymitch replied.

"Same here, with only a few well-placed sheafs of wheat to hide my modesty," Chaff said.

"What modesty?" Both men dissolved into self-deprecating laughter.

"How is young Katniss holding up?" Seeder asked, turning the conversation to more serious matters.

Haymitch's smile faded as he eyed her, looking very uncomfortable in Finnick's company. _Come on sweetheart, talk to him a bit, charm him. _Trying to ask Katniss to charm someone was like asking Haymitch to give a motivational speech, so he didn't get his hopes up. Finnick would be a useful ally though – he was strong and magnetic.

"Holding up," he replied. "She still hasn't started to deal with her own Games, never mind this. And then there's everything else."

"She could have a better chance of surviving than some of us," Seeder noticed. "She is very popular in District 11, and the offer of food for our tributes' families was much appreciated. Even if they will never receive it." She watched Katniss sadly. "I knew Thresh and Rue. They were good children, and I had high hopes for their chances. I don't have high hopes for my own survival in the arena, but I would go more happily knowing that Katniss would live. That _it_ would live."

The rebellion. "That's what I'm hoping too," Haymitch replied. "Especially now that Peeta's out of the way, he'll be able to do some good and make Katniss easier to manage. She doesn't know anything about it, of course. I've got some thoughts on that too, if you want to hear them later." Seeder nodded. "How about you, Chaff?"

"I haven't given up on my own chances yet, my friend," he replied with a chuckle, though it sounded forced. Seeder might have come to this prepared to make sacrifices, but Chaff seemed more reluctant. Haymitch understood that District 11 had suffered a lot more for its attempts at rebellion than District 12, but the reticence was still frustrating.

Katniss approached him, looking a little flustered, and Chaff took the opportunity to plant a kiss on her, laughing raucously at her reaction. Haymitch had to admit it has funny, the girl was way too easily embarrassed. She shot him a glower.

Seeder diffused the situation by giving her a compliment and a more polite kiss, answering the girl's whispered question about Thresh and Rue's families. Haymitch couldn't contain a grin. Sometimes the girl said just the right thing without even realising. If Seeder needed a sign that Katniss had the people of District 11 in her thoughts, there it was.

They were ushered off to their chariots, and Haymitch positioned himself next to Katniss. As he switched on his suit, she looked at him and gasped.

"Haymitch, you look like... Not like you at all!"

"Thanks for the compliment girlie." He mimicked her voice, "Wow Katniss, you look so pretty, that must be some costume!"

She rolled her eyes and switched on her own suit. The effect was instantaneous. The jumpsuit glowed like the embers in a hearth, and threw a serious, hard cast to her face. The make-up accentuated her high cheekbones and piercing eyes, making her look older. Haymitch just blinked, and she grinned – a strange expression on her otherworldly face.

"See?" she said in satisfaction, and nodded to the screens as their chariot rolled out. Katniss composed herself for the cameras, staring out over the crowd like they were slime on the bottom of her shoe.

Haymitch took a moment longer to prepare himself, but when he glanced up at the screens, he was met with a face he barely recognised. It looked like a combination of his younger handsome self, and a being that transcended humanity. Seeing it had a strange effect. Part of him knew that he was just the same old Haymitch, dressed up for the occasion. But another part felt invigorated, prouder.

He straightened his back, gripped the chariot and stared out over the crowds as Katniss was doing. Their already hard expressions were highlighted by the make-up and suits, making them look deadly. They didn't force themselves to hold hands, as she and Peeta would have done happily. There was no point. What looked good on a pair of teenagers wouldn't work with a girl and a middle-aged man. But the costumes and postures did it all for them.

The crowd were going wild, loving their disdain, and Haymitch fed everything angry thought he'd ever had about the Capitol into his haughty demeanour. For once, he could just be himself, not the wreck they had turned him into, not the fawning charmer his role as mentor forced him to be. He could be himself, and he loved it. At his side, he got the sense that Katniss loved it too.

...

Haymitch decided to give the equipment in the training centre a go while he was here, but it quickly became a little embarrassing. He avoided the knives, since he could no longer make a shot worth anything. The spears were a safer bet than swords, and he'd been comfortably practicing with one until Finnick approached and started giving him pointers.

It was galling to be told how to fight from a pretty boy who hadn't even been born when Haymitch had won his Games.

It seemed that Katniss was making friends with Mags, Nuts and Volts, which was just marvellous. She'd probably come back to him all '_I want them or no allies at all'. _He sighed and cast his eyes on other potential allies. It wasn't that he disliked them, quite the opposite. District 3 were a smart pair, and responsible for a lot of recent improvements in technology. They could be a huge asset in the arena, but only in escaping. They were a bit emotionally unreliable, Wiress in particular had suffered a breakdown quite some time ago. He doubted Katniss was considering their tactical advantage though, just that she liked them as people.

"Seems like the ladies are making friends," Finnick noted, leaning on his spear and giving Haymitch a lazy smile. "Perhaps we should be doing the same thing."

"Isn't that what we already are doing?" he replied, gesturing at the weapons. "Stabbing dummies is what I do with my best friends."

"Should be useful, considering the amount of dummies in here," Finnick said with a chuckle. He eyed Haymitch thoughtfully. The younger man looked at everyone like that. Haymitch supposed that a lifetime of being whored out to the highest Capitol bidder left a person with one thing on their mind. Not that Finnick was as vain or single-minded as he pretended to be.

"I'm surprised you insisted on being a tribute," Finnick said. "I'd have thought you'd be happy to sit it out with a bottle of liquor and let the 'star-crossed lovers' chance it. After all, they got lucky once already."

"And look where that's gotten them," Haymitch said. "Besides, it's not like I'm the only mentor who wanted to keep one of their kids out of the arena. Or are you telling me you don't know why Mags volunteered for Annie Cresta?"

Finnick gave him a calculating look. "Mags is an incredibly selfless woman. It's not exactly surprising coming from her. While you..."

"Have been a miserable, grouchy drunk for years? Well maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."

Finnick narrowed his eyes before giving Haymitch a relaxed smile. "Maybe you have. Won't that be interesting."

The young man moved off, and Haymitch watched him go. He wasn't sure what to make of Finnick, whether he was a good bet for an ally or not. After all, he was technically a Career, but then so was Mags, and she was one of the best victors still left alive.

He decided to join Katniss and Mags as the old woman taught her how to make a good fish hook. Though a stroke a few years ago had rendered Mags' speech unintelligible, she and Katniss seemed to be getting along very well. It was a shame, really. In her prime, Mags would have been the best ally anyone could hope for, but now she'd just slow them down too much.

"Having fun?"

Katniss shrugged. "There's not that much point in training now, is there? We already know each others' strengths and weaknesses. Not much will change in the next few days."

She had a point. Their tribute-mentor strategy meetings didn't involve a lot of advice from Peeta. Mostly the three of them came up with ideas on how to survive, or Haymitch explained how mentoring worked.

"You're sure you know everyone's strengths and weaknesses?" he asked. When she nodded, he said: "Enobaria, tell me about her."

"She won her Games by tearing out a boy's throat with her teeth," Katniss replied. "She had her teeth altered to reflect it, and she loves the attention the Capitol gives her. Probably to the point she doesn't even know who she is without them anymore."

"Johanna Mason."

"Pretended to be weak until there were only a handful of tributes left. Then she got her hands on an axe and killed them all. She seems to be familiar with woodland, but no survival skills. Seems a little crazy." Katniss glanced over to where the other girl was wrestling someone and wrinkled her nose. "Loves getting naked and oiling up her breasts."

Haymitch chuckled. "Finnick Odair."

"A complete peacock who probably spends more time looking in the mirror than anything else. He had so many sponsors during his Games that it was almost easy for him, he didn't have to worry about surviving. Good swimmer. Plenty of lovers."

Haymitch snorted at the 'lovers' part. Katniss was one hell of a naive girl sometimes. Didn't it occur to her that if things had gone differently, people in the Capitol would be lining up for a piece of her too? In fact, that 'star-crossed lovers' deal had probably helped her in more ways than she realised. It was something he had never been forced to go through himself, but only because everyone he cared about had already been murdered to punish him for using the force fields. They had no leverage to force him into prostitution after that, and once alcohol abuse ravaged him, no one cared anymore.

"And he probably loves the Capitol as much as Enobaria does," Katniss added.

Mags had stopped her knots and fish hooks whilst Katniss listed her knowledge of Finnick, and shook her head now. She tapped the girl on the arm and gestured to where Finnick was talking with Johanna Mason. "Noizgudbo."

The girl blinked in confusion and Haymitch smiled. "Don't be offended Mags. Katniss here doesn't trust her own shadow."

The old woman smiled at her and patted Katniss' cheek. "Waryorfrends."

Katniss gave her a perplexed smile, and continued practicing her knots. Mags looked up at Haymitch and joined her wrinkled hands at the thumb, flapping the fingers in a synchronised motion that resembled a bird. A mockingjay?

She nodded back at where Finnick was stood and smiled, then turned back to helping with the knots. It started to dawn on Haymitch that Mags might be more useful than he'd realised. He'd underestimated the bond between her and her teammate. It seemed that he'd just gained two allies for himself and Katniss. Now he just needed to work on the rest.

...

Usually when Haymitch and Chaff got together, no beverage was safe. They'd raid entire bars and drink themselves into a stupor, only to awake with a storming hangover the next day. It seemed that the older he got, the worse the hangovers were.

With the Games looming close though, neither of them were drinking much now. Chaff never drunk as much near the Games anyway, since he seemed to take his role as mentor more seriously than anything else. Haymitch always thought it strange considering that Seeder was there to mentor instead, but since becoming attached to Katniss and Peeta, he understood it now.

They'd managed to restrain themselves to just a small bottle each. It wasn't even enough to get Haymitch tipsy, and he was trying to savour it as long as possible. His meeting with Chaff wasn't just for fun though. In the past couple of days, he'd managed to recruit Johanna Mason to the cause. She'd taken surprisingly little convincing, leading him to believe she was probably already an active member of the rebellion – she just couldn't openly admit it here. District 3 were also easy to convince, since they had already agreed to Katniss' request for an alliance.

Haymitch was determined to recruit Chaff though. He didn't want to oppose his old friend in the arena.

"I don't know which is more tragic," Chaff said, though his voice was remarkably light. "Me going into the arena against my old mentor, or you going up against a girl you just mentored."

"Who says we have to oppose each other?" Haymitch pointed out. "I'm fully intending to help Katniss in the arena, I didn't spend all of the last Game trying to keep her alive for nothing."

"What if she doesn't feel the same way?" the other man asked, pointing his bottle at Haymitch. "I saw the last Game, she seemed pretty quick to turn on Mellark when the gamemakers revoked their change. She could turn on you as easily."

"She never would have killed him," Haymitch said dismissively, though privately he wasn't so sure. "You also saw what she did for Rue, or heard about it. Besides, you aren't telling me that you and Seeder aren't going to be allies?"

Chaff shrugged. "She and I have some very different ideas on how to approach the Quell."

Haymitch could guess what that dispute was over, but he didn't probe. Instead, he said, "She's a good ally to have. But I don't know her like I do you. I want someone I can really trust on my side."

The other man laughed. "Two drunks on the same team, we'd be unstoppable! District 2 must be terrified."

That just earned a scowl from Haymitch, but he covered it up. "By the time we get in the arena, that won't be so much of a problem. We'll be able to function, at least. You're smart, or at least lucky – how else are you always beating me at cards?"

"Cards are one thing," Chaff replied, getting to his feet. "But the stakes here are too high. I know what you really want, Haymitch, and I'm sorry but I can't promise you it."

He turned and headed for the door.

"If you walk away, Rue and Thresh's deaths will have been for nothing," Haymitch said savagely.

Chaff regarded him sadly. "My friend, _all_ the deaths have been for nothing."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry this one took a bit longer! Christmas/New Year shenanigans took priority!**

...

"Nervous?" Haymitch asked, as they sat waiting for the gamemakers to call them in.

Katniss shook her head. "Not really, I'm just not sure what to do in there."

He snorted. "Well, whatever you do, _please _don't shoot something at them this time." He needed the gamemakers at least a little complacent, so he could focus on his escape plan. He also wanted the other tributes – at least the ones who wouldn't ally with him – to dismiss Katniss. The last thing he needed was them singling her out like last time.

She chuckled, surprising him. "It would ruin the surprise if I did it twice in a row. Anyway, they have a forcefield up now – Beetee and Wiress pointed it out to me."

He raised his eyebrows. He'd completely missed that during training, though honestly he'd been trying not to draw much attention to himself by seeming overly interested in the gamemakers.

"Know what you're going to do?" she asked.

Haymitch shrugged. "The usual, smack a dummy around with a spear, lift some weights."

"I don't recommend anything with the knives," she noted, a slight smile on her face.

He scowled at her. "Oh hilarious, little missy. Lucky for you I didn't decide to drink myself stupid, stagger in there and vomit on the floor. Not too late to change my mind though..."

"Don't you dare," Katniss warned.

A little while later, they called his name, and Haymitch left Katniss, who was looking a little more troubled now. He headed into the training room, looking up at the observation room where the gamemakers were waiting.

They were all watching – some curiously, others thoughtfully. A couple even looked suspicious, and Haymitch's stomach flipped over, until he realised that they were both older than him. Though he couldn't be sure, he thought they might have been gamemakers from his own Games. No doubt they remembered the trouble his tricks with the force field had caused last time.

Haymitch gave them a sarcastic little wave, deciding that it could be his one little act of defiance. He couldn't afford to be more dramatic, as much as he'd love to shout in their faces, or remind them of what both he and his kid had done to make them look stupid.

He really did hate them though. They sat up there in judgement. How many of them laughed themselves stupid at the sight of his drunken behaviour on TV, not knowing or caring that it was their Games that had led to decades of substance abuse for him? And not just him, but dozens of victors. All of them found a way to drown their demons, or they were consumed by them.

Plutarch Heavensbee was stood up at the front, eyeing Haymitch with a strange smile. He couldn't quite work it out, and decided it was best to put the gamemakers out of his mind and just do what he'd said he'd do – a few moves with the spear, a bit of weight-lifting, some basic survival tricks that Katniss had taught him.

Once it was done, he sat in District 12's quarters with Peeta and Effie, nervous and sweaty as he waited for Katniss to return. He was dreaded the thought that she'd done something rebellious. Surely she wouldn't be so stupid though? She knew how she was being watched already, knew she couldn't afford to attract the gamemakers ire even more, or they'd just kill her off 'by accident' the moment she entered the arena. It wouldn't take much.

A short while later, Katniss arrived, looking strangely satisfied. Just the look on her face was enough to make Haymitch's heart plummet into his stomach.

"What did you do?" he asked tensely.

"I hung Seneca Crane. Rigged up a dummy with his name on it." She didn't even have the good grace to look ashamed.

Haymitch groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Oh Katniss," Effie gasped. "How could you? They're bound to punish you for that!" She covered her hands with her mouth, as though she couldn't say more.

"How did they react?" Peeta asked, looking a strange combination of admiring and worried.

"About how you'd expect," Katniss replied with a shrug. "Shocked, angry, upset. Really though, they've already forced me to go back to the arena, what more can they do to me?"

"Why don't you have a think, sweetheart?" Haymitch snapped, jumping to his feet. "You have a family, don't you? And all those 'cousins' Snow knows you care about."

She blanched. "They wouldn't. They couldn't, they're just gamemakers. And if Snow wanted to punish my family, he already would have done."

"'If Snow wanted to punish my family, he already would have'," Haymitch mimicked nastily. "Listen to yourself, you really think you know how he thinks? You have no idea what the Capitol is capable of, girl."

Effie raised her hands in placation. "Haymitch–"

He waved a hand at her. "Forget it. I should count myself lucky. At least when they kill her straight off, I won't have to worry about keeping her stupid hide alive."

With that, he stormed from the room, ignoring Peeta's call to come back, and Effie's soothing 'he doesn't really mean that'. Haymitch wasn't sure whether he did or not, but right now, he was feeling like his job had become a thousand times harder. He hadn't realised before that the most difficult part of keeping Katniss alive for the rebellion might be the actions of Katniss herself.

...

The city lights comforted Haymitch when it was night. He could stare out of the huge window in the dimly lit lounge, and watch the neon lights twinkling away. When it was lit up like this, he could almost forget what it stood for.

His fifth bottle of liquor lay empty at his feet. The Capitol stuff wasn't as strong as back home, it seemed to be diluted with other flavours. But it got the job done. He would regret this in the morning. He'd regret it when he was back in the arena, shaking and nauseous. If the gamemakers killed Katniss straight off though, he wouldn't have to worry about anything. He had no illusions about winning the Game himself, though he'd obviously try if she died.

Someone lightly kicked one of the bottles at his feet, and Haymitch stirred.

"I thought you'd given that up," Katniss said pointedly.

"Why bother. If we're gonna die, I wanna die drunk."

"I'm not sorry for doing it," she said, seating herself on a comfy chair next to him.

He wanted to snap back at her, but couldn't bring himself to. "I know. If the gamemakers want revenge though..."

"Then I'll try and make sure it doesn't come back to you," she told him. "We could split up, and you'd still have a good chance. You have friends in the arena, and you wouldn't have to worry so much about the gamemakers."

Haymitch laughed bitterly. "Sweetheart, you honestly think I'd leave you to go it on your own? We're in this together. I know what you're thinking: 'Haymitch is a useless drunk, he won't be any help at all. I wish Peeta was with me.'"

"That's not true," she protested, but it rang hollow. He gave her a flat look. Katniss sighed. "You know why I want Peeta with me. But that doesn't mean I think you're useless. I just... I don't see how we can both get out of this alive, and I don't want us to be the only two left."

"We can't both survive it," he said. "But you can."

Katniss gave him a sharp look. "I won't let you do that."

He grinned, pleased to have angered her. "You can't stop me, sweetheart. If I want to die to keep you alive, then I will."

"Then I'll make sure _you _survive," she replied. "Whatever it takes."

Haymitch started laughing now. "Oh really. You going to let lover boy in on the plan? 'Cause I don't think he'll go for it."

Katniss frowned at him, and moved to sit next to him on the sofa. "I'm serious Haymitch. I won't let you die if you can help it."

Her sincerity cut through his alcohol haze, and he felt slightly guilty for laughing at her. He dropped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "I know, sweetheart."

She leaned into his arm. "Then promise me you won't sacrifice yourself for me."

"I promise," he said, lying through his teeth.

Katniss seemed satisfied, and they sat there together, until the sound of a door opening reached them. He craned his neck to see who'd arrived, and grinned as he spotted Peeta.

"Well, while everyone's coming to the party, you might as well pull up a seat, boy." Haymtich patted the sofa cushion next to him.

Peeta sat himself down, and Haymitch slung an arm around his shoulders too. It seemed right to have both his kids here with him for potentially one of the few nights he had left. No matter what happened, it was unlikely all three of them would be together like this again.

The boy looked like he wanted to say something, but they couldn't be candid in front of Katniss. Just the thought of them working to keep her alive was enough to bring out her sense of martyrdom. Letting her know they wanted her to escape the arena – at the risk of their own lives – so that she could join the rebels would probably be enough to make her leap out of the window right now, just to stop them.

"Me and Effie have been working on your sponsors," Peeta said instead. "A lot of people were really sympathetic to me. They don't like the idea of me watching you die in the arena."

"They're probably disappointed they don't get to see you kill each other," Haymitch supplied unhelpfully.

"I think it was genuine," he replied. "In any case, they were willing to help me out even before you've set foot in the games, that's a good sign."

"I've still got competition from Finnick and the other Careers," Katniss pointed out. "People will be lining up to sponsor them. Did you find some sponsors for Haymitch?"

The two men met each others' eye for a moment. Haymitch knew the boy hadn't even tried to find him sponsors, but he didn't expect him too. They'd both agreed to focus on Katniss. That didn't make it easier to see the guilt in Peeta's eyes, the knowledge that ate away at every mentor – that you had to make the pragmatic choice between which of your tributes had the best chance at surviving. Even under ordinary circumstances, Haymitch wouldn't blame Peeta for picking Katniss, never mind with their side plans.

"Not yet," Peeta answered, and Katniss looked troubled.

Haymitch nudged her. "Don't worry sweetheart, I've got friends in there, remember."

"If we have to fight them... kill them, I can do it for you, so you don't have to."

"I appreciate that, kid." He sighed. "It's not them I'm worried about though."

"The mutts..." Peeta murmured. The three of them were joined in silent agreement. Mutts were one of the main things to haunt Haymitch's nightmares, and he knew they affected Katniss and Peeta too. The gamemakers only used two types of mutt in their game, but it was disturbing enough. Haymitch had never been stung by a tracker jacker, but Katniss' – and to a lesser extent, Peeta's – reactions had been enough to disturb him. And the sight of that girl dying in their Game, that would stay with him. As would the death of the boy from the wolf-mutts. Eaten alive. It reminded him forcibly of his own Games, where every beautiful or innocent creature had a murderous intent. Sharp teeth in the night. Maysilee skewered by a songbird.

His kids had told him that the wolf mutts had the eyes of the other tributes. Fur that resembled their hair, bodies to reflect their stature. All of that hidden behind a savage desire to kill. He felt sick at the thought of it, holding his kids tight. Whatever happened, he wouldn't let the Capitol take them.

...

Tomorrow they had their last chance to give a good impression and pull in sponsors. Haymitch had refused to let his prep team anywhere near him again, so Portia had just told him some simple touches she would do to make him look less – well, less like a drunk going to seed.

While Cinna and Katniss' own prep team ran through what they were going to do tomorrow, Haymtich and Peeta got together to work out how they were going to approach the interview with Flickerman tomorrow. He just hoped Katniss wouldn't punch them on air.

It wouldn't work as well with Haymitch delivering the bombshell, not like it would with Peeta, so he would have to work in some other element to help rouse the audience's sympathies. And there was nothing like a little truth mixed in with the lie. It would also help the audience accept the lengths he was going to in order to keep Katniss alive, and keep her 'star-crossed lovers' thing with Peeta untarnished. The lasted thing needed was for a 'dirty old man' angle to work its way in there.

By the time night fell, Haymitch was feeling a little more optimistic again. Well, not optimistic, but he knew there was no turning back now.

He was definitely regretting leaping into the bottle the previous night. His relapse meant that he'd been feeling shivery again this evening, and he was determined to avoid the drink completely. But he also needed to avoid Katniss and Peeta. It wouldn't give them confidence to see him raving again.

Haymitch headed down the corridor to his room, determined to bunker down for the night and wait it out. Maybe he'd watch the TV. Or maybe he'd just stab himself in the eyes for several hours.

Before he reached his own room though, a door opened, and Effie's face appeared. She looked less preened and primped than usual, with that foolish wig askew and a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. He wondered how many she'd had already.

"You shouldn't drink," he said. "I hear it's bad for you."

That was enough to make her break down in tears, and Haymitch found himself awkwardly patting her on the back while she sobbed.

"They can't do this," she whispered. "It's completely against the rules! You're supposed to be safe! The victors are supposed to be safe from this!"

Haymitch firmly grasped her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "It doesn't matter whether they can or not, it's happened. There's nothing we can do to stop that now. We need you strong. You need to bring in sponsors for Katniss. Peeta's good, but he doesn't have experience with this. You do."

"I know. I know," she said softly, composing herself. "I was so proud of them. Katniss and Peeta. They were such shining stars, the best victors the Capitol has seen in decades. Even better than you."

Haymitch snorted at that.

"No, really." She was looking him straight in the eye now, sincere and sad. "I wasn't upset to be given District 12 at first, because I'd watched your Games, I knew how clever and resourceful you were."

He laughed. "And then you got to District 12 and realised there were no victors there, just a drunk."

"Not _just _a drunk. You might not appreciate it, but I really value the time when you mentored Katniss and Peeta... convincing people to sponsor them, prepping for the interviews, sending them help, talking to their families, worrying about their safety. It make me realise... the four of us, we're a team. And no one can break that up."

She stopped suddenly, looking around as though she was afraid peacekeepers would pounce on her. Haymitch just stared. He'd known that Effie wasn't happy to see Katniss back in the arena, and thought that maybe she didn't want him in there either, but he hadn't quite realised the depth of her feelings towards the District 12 victors. It went beyond the shallow fawning of the other Capitol citizens. Effie might look like one of them, but there was a real person under that costume.

"I got you this," she said, taking a golden bracelet from her pocket. "I had something similar made for Peeta, so the three of us could match Katniss' Mockingjay pin. A little show of solidarity for the viewers."

Effie took his wrist, delicately fastening the bracelet. She probably had no idea what the Mockingjay pin really represented, what it might look like, the four of them matching like that. The bracelet was almost like a shackle, reminding him of the path he'd chosen, to support the rebellion. He was locked in and couldn't change course. But he couldn't feel annoyed at Effie for the gesture, so he received it silently.

She looked at him, waiting for a reaction. Haymitch couldn't think of something appropriate that would convey how he appreciated the gesture, but since when was he appropriate? He grabbed her and planted a kiss on her mouth.

Effie gaped at him after he released her, a look of shock and indignation on her face. He just smiled. "For old times' sake. I think that was the first thing I ever did when I met you."

"And every year since," she said, smiling sadly. "I'm going to miss you, Haymitch."


	5. Chapter 5

Portia completed her finishing touches to Haymitch, before the big interview. He didn't look that much different to his usual appearance, just tidied up a bit. He'd specifically told her he didn't want to look younger. Part of his approach would be about emphasising how young Katniss was, and that wouldn't work if he looked barely a decade older than her.

He was more than a little concerned about his suit though. It was a formal one, but there was something about it, the style, that made him concerned. He had a feeling he wasn't going to be pleased when he saw Katniss.

As he waited for Katniss to finish being prepped, someone entered his bedroom. Haymitch glanced over, shocked to see Darius there. The young Avox man seemed nervous. He'd avoided showing any sign of recognition since he was assigned to them, but it made Haymitch sick with fury whenever he saw Darius. It was this sort of thing that reminded him why he was going to free Katniss, why the revolution needed its spark.

The man didn't move from the door, but his eyes rose to meet Haymitch's, and the older man got to his feet. A message from the rebels? Haymitch knew there was a contact here, someone well placed, but he wasn't allowed to know the identity. If something went wrong, it was too important that the information couldn't be tortured out of him. Just as the contact didn't know exactly how Haymitch and his fellow tributes intended to free Katniss from the arena. Once he was in there, Peeta would have to be the information conduit.

He didn't say anything. The room was probably bugged. It might have cameras too, but Haymitch had never been able to find any.

Darius parted his lips, and he realised that something was sitting in Darius' mouth, something small and circular. A wafer. Haymitch recognised it, and without being able to see it clearly, knew there was a mockingjay printed on it. The moment Darius realised his recognition, he swallowed the wafer. Then he pulled a chunk of bread from his pocket and mouthed the word: count.

...

Haymitch's fears about Katniss were confirmed when he arrived and saw her decked out in an ostentatious wedding dress. Before he could even say a word, she said, "Snow made me wear it."

He scowled in disgust. The man was condemning Katniss to death, and he wanted to get in this last bit of humiliation. And what role was Haymitch playing? Father of the bride? He felt terrible for Katniss, having to go out there in front of all Panem wearing that. The Capitol would love it, but the Districts would realise what it really meant. Snow was going to kill the symbol of their revolution, and he was going to do it laughing.

The other victors weren't impressed with the dress either. Some were disgusted like him, some angry, some upset. It seemed to galvanise something in them all though, a unified feeling that they had been wronged, lied to. They were supposed to be safe from the Games, and they wanted the Capitol to look at its betrayal.

When Katniss' turn for an interview came, Haymitch was twisting his bracelet round his wrist in apprehension, but she played her role well. Flickerman asked her how she felt about going into the arena without Peeta this time, and she confessed that she had gone to Haymitch to ask if he could go in his place. She said that she could go to her death in peace, knowing that Peeta would be safe. This was greeted with much ooh-ing and aah-ing from the crowd, interspersed with camera shots of Peeta looking tragic on the balcony.

Katniss was better at showmanship this time around, and by the time she got up to show off her dress, she had blown Cashmere and Gloss's tragic sibling angle out of the water, and everyone had forgotten about Finnick's poem. In a way though, all of them were adding up to the main event, building tension.

Haymitch was starting to feel confident when Katniss' dress began to burn. There were cries of shock from the audience, but she didn't seem fazed at all, and twirled until it had burned away, revealing glossy black feathers. When she raised her arms, Haymitch stared in disbelief. Wings. Cinna had turned her into a Mockingjay.

The cameras picked him out of the audience, and the stylist gave a little bow, looking uncannily calm. Beside him, Peeta was transfixed in shock. Unlike the audience, he knew it wasn't just a fashion statement, just like Katniss' pin wasn't just a pin. Cinna had as good as signed his death warrant with that move. Haymitch had never even realised the man was affiliated with the rebels too.

With that bombshell, Katniss took her place with the other victors, and it was Haymitch's turn. She tried to catch his eye, but he didn't look at her. He had his own little revelation to deliver, thought up by him and Peeta to inflame the Capitol.

"I'm sure everyone in the audience recognises you, Haymitch," Flickerman began, laughing in a friendly way as if they were old friends.

"If they don't, I'd be happy to fall off stage to remind them," Haymitch said, as though it was all a big joke to him. "Though I'll have to do it without the drink."

Flickerman moved on swiftly from that topic. Don't want your pack of idiots to start thinking about why a victor might need to drink themselves into oblivion.

"How do you feel about your return to the arena?" the presenter asked. "This will be the second Quarter Quell you've been part of. Think it will give you an advantage?"

"I'd like to think I've got an edge in that respect, but I won't be using it to my advantage. I just want to make sure I can keep Katniss safe for Peeta."

The crowd made some 'aww-ing' sounds now.

"Yes, she just told us about how you agreed to enter the arena instead of him, at her request. That seems very brave of you! You must care about them very much."

"Oh definitely," Haymitch said, ladening his voice with as much sappiness as he could manage. "Those kids have had barely any time together, barely any time to live their lives. I think of them as my own children, Caesar. Keeping them safe... it's the least I can do."

"It must be hard for you to know that they'll never be able to marry, and have children of their own."

Haymitch could kiss him for that perfect opening. "Well, that's the thing, Caesar..." He leaned forward, trying to build the tension in the atmosphere. "Katniss and Peeta thought they were safe to spend their lives together... they already started trying for a family."

Flickerman looked at him uncertainly. "Are you saying...?"

"Yes. Katniss and Peeta are expecting a baby."

The crowd went nuts, and Haymitch watched in satisfaction as they started shrieking incoherently. It had been a risk, since neither he or Peeta could guarantee the Capitol would feel anything about condemning a foetus to death. After all, give the imaginary foetus several years, and the Capitol would be happily packing it off to the arena. It seemed that Peeta had been right though, they really did feel differently about babies. Or maybe it was just the tragedy of sending a pregnant girl into the arena.

Either way, by the time Haymitch joined Katniss with the other victors, he knew there was nothing else he could do now. Between Katniss pissing off the gamemakers, Cinna's mockingjay dress, and the baby bomb, they'd done just about every inflammatory thing imaginable. That was why he didn't feel any reservations at all when Katniss took his hand, and together with the other twenty-four victors, raised their joined hands into the air. A final show of defiance for all of Panem.

...


	6. Chapter 6

When Haymitch was shot up into the arena, the sun blinded him, and water seemed to sparkle everywhere. The nearest piece of land was several metres away, between him and Johanna on one side, and old Mags on the other.

Haymitch couldn't swim. He had never even tried, since there were no bodies of water in District 12. None that he could access, anyway. Katniss on the other hand had spent years escaping into the surrounding woodland. She could manage it. He wasn't sure he could make it to those stone paths, but he had to try. He had to reach Katniss and get to safety.

He tried to find Katniss, but he couldn't see her anywhere. She must be on the other side of the Cornucopia, so that's where he would head first. He also had to make sure she got the bow – that was her lifeline. Hopefully his allies wouldn't forget their promises the moment that gong went off, because he was relying on them to keep District 1 and 2 away from Katniss during this initial bloodbath.

It was sure to be a bloodbath. He couldn't trust Brutus, Enobaria or the siblings enough to ally with them, so they were determined to win in the traditional way. The siblings in particular would no doubt work as a team to make sure one of them could win.

He took a quick glance around the arena to try and work out where they should head first, and he realised it would have to be the jungle. They would be too easy to track on the beach, and the trees would hide them. The realisation tasted ashen in his mouth though, as he remembered the poisoned trees in his own Quell. Poisoned water. The deadly animals. Traps everywhere. He wasn't looking forward to heading into that jungle.

The gong went, but barely any tributes jumped into the water. Haymitch stared at it, wondering if there's some hidden danger in it. But he knew he couldn't stay here. Katniss would have moved immediately, and he pitched himself into the water.

It's worse than he imagined. He flailed his arms as the water buffeted him, torn between choking down and spewing up the salt water. Haymitch kicked furiously, trying to keep his head from submerging.

Through stinging eyes, he saw someone closing the distance with him. In this state, there was no way he could defend himself.

Only when they drew closer did he realise it was Mags.

She called to him, and Haymitch felt her tug at his belt, saying something insistently. He caught the word 'bob', and tried to focus on her.

Mags was smiling at him encouragingly. "Kick. Kick!"

She was paddling on the spot, completely unfazed by the water, and Haymitch struggled to match her movements, the way she seemed to sweep the water away with her arms, kicking rhythmically with her feet. He realised that the belt was keeping him afloat, all he had to do was force himself towards the land.

Mags kept level with him as he struggled to the strip of land, and Haymitch felt unbelievably grateful to the old woman. As they reached it, Katniss and Finnick arrived, already loaded up on weapons. He felt a surge of pride. The girl was the best tribute he'd ever had, by far.

Finnick scooped Mags out of the water first, and then reached down and hauled Haymitch out with Katniss' help.

"You didn't tell me he was our ally," she hissed, handing him a long knife and a spear.

"I thought the bracelet would make that clear."

"I thought he'd killed you and taken it from your body!" she replied. Haymitch winced. He hadn't factored in how suspicious she was.

As Finnick handed him the bracelet back, Mags informed them of the floatation belts, and they saw a couple of other tributes hesitantly jump into the water.

"We better move," Haymitch said, turning for the jungle.

"What about Wiress and Beetee?" Katniss demanded. She'd wanted them as allies, and he had plans for them, but he knew District 7 or Seeder would keep them safe until they were needed.

"We'll catch up with them later!" he said. When she gave him a puzzled look, he grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the jungle. "No time to argue, we have to go!"

He plunged into the jungle, Katniss quickly overtaking him, and even Finnick with Mags on his back. Haymitch was wheezing before long, but he forced himself onwards until they found somewhere safe enough.

...

After Katniss climbed a tree to scout the area, they kept walking, searching for water. There didn't seem to be any rivers or streams nearby. Not so much as a pond. The only liquid was the perspiration on their faces. They hadn't yet run into some horrible trap, but Haymitch wasn't feeling relaxed about that.

Anything could be lying in wait. He remembered some of the tributes from his Games drinking from poisoned streams, before bleeding out of every orifice.

He threw stones as he went, wary of stumbling onto the force field boundary. There was sure to be one, it's how they kept the tributes in, and they tended to unleash traps when one got too close to the edge, like the wildfire in Katniss' Game. They'd done that ever since Haymitch's Game, to stop them using it in the same way. They couldn't do that here though. The arena was too small, if Katniss's scouting information was anything to go by.

If they were going to escape, Haymitch would need to locate the boundary. He doubted he could do anything spectacular with it – that was what Beetee and Wiress were for – but he needed to know what their point of escape was.

He'd been dwelling on Darius' message – count. It could only be the count until their opportune moment to escape, when the contact could create the diversion for them to escape. But count what – hours, days? If the bread was their count, and they hadn't received any yet, then it must be that the contact hadn't been able to get everything in place yet. Haymitch hoped that nothing had gone wrong out there.

"What are you doing? We should be finding water," Katniss said unhappily. Dehydration made her cranky in the same way that withdrawal made Haymitch.

"Looking for the force field," he replied, equally sour. How was the barrier powered? Electricity, obviously, but was its powered sourced from the arena somehow? Or was there a conduit that received it? Would those be underground, or disguised as something else?

"Why didn't you tell me about Finnick?" she demanded. "Or let me get District 3."

"Because I have a plan," he said tetchily.

"And when were you intending to fill me in?"

"I wasn't," Haymitch said flatly.

She scowled at him. "You're not my mentor here, Haymitch, you're my partner. We're supposed to be working together, and I've had enough of your secrets."

He turned to her, incredulous_. Wake up, sweetheart,_ he wanted to say, _Have you forgotten where you are?_ Instead, he said, "Well that's too bad, but there's a reason no one ever tells you the plan – you always screw it up."

"Fine," she fumed. "Keep looking for your force field. I'm going to find us some food, so we don't go hungry as well as thirsty."

Katniss nocked an arrow to her bow and stalked off into the trees. He scowled as she left, since they would have to stop and set up camp. They couldn't take the risk of losing her in the dense jungle. Considering that he had prearranged to meet the other allies at the Cornucopia on the second day, they couldn't afford to waste time in the jungle for too long. They just needed to be here long enough to find water and check the force field's location.

While Finnick and Mags showed off their prowess at weaving a shelter and mats, Haymitch continued to search for the force field. His arm was feeling tired now, and his head was pounding. He threw a nut into the foliage with particular viciousness, when Katniss appeared silently nearby, a questioning look on her face.

"What did the nut do to you?" she asked.

He ignored that. "Where's the food then?"

Katniss held up a rat-shaped animal. He nodded sullenly, wishing it were a skin of wine instead. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper, and he wasn't hungry anyway. Even the thought of eating made the bile rise in his throat.

"I'm going to keep looking for the force field," he said. "You can head back to the others."

She didn't move.

"What?" he asked.

"Haymitch, you didn't even realise I was here until I was practically on top of you. Anyone could sneak up on you out here."

He looked at her, dumbfounded. "So you're planning on babysitting me."

She gave him a slightly smug smile. "You're the one throwing things in a toddler tantrum."

"Well, I feel so touched to have you looking out for my poor old self. Now, if you could shoot me down a drink, I'd feel really appreciative."

Haymitch turned back to throwing things into the forest, pausing for a reaction. He'd gone twenty or so more steps, when his nut hit the force field, sending a slight ripple of light out. This was it, the thing they had to destroy to get out of the arena.

"Happy now?" Katniss asked. She was staring at the barrier with the same kind of curiosity he felt. Maybe she was wondering how it worked. He hoped she wasn't considering using it in the same way he had in his first Games. They needed to make sure the gamemakers didn't suspect.

"Sure," he replied. "Now we know where the boundary is, we can figure how big this place is – since the Cornucopia's at the dead centre – and make sure no one walks into it by accident. Plus–" he filched the dead rat from her belt and flung it at the force field "– I've figured out how we're going to cook dinner."

...

That evening, they feasted on some of Katniss' freshly-caught rat, specially fried by Haymitch on the force field. He'd had to force it down his own throat. They'd all gotten exited when she'd told them about it's wet snout indicating water, but since they hadn't found any, the excitement had worn off a bit. Instead they were looking ahead of a night of dehydration. Since for Haymitch that would be coupled with lack of sleep, shivering and nausea, he wasn't looking forward to it.

Lights suddenly lit up the sky, and Haymitch stopped eating his meat, remembering the images of the deceased that ended each day. There would be many today, since it was the first night. Despite their show of solidarity last night, plenty of tributes had been killed. So many people who thought they'd be able to live out the rest of their lives, the true nightmare over. A mixture of anger and depression rode through him, and he eyed the sky sullenly.

The faces of several friends greeted him, Seeder among them. Haymitch felt his heart sink at the thought of that good woman dead in the senseless slaughter. He was glad that Chaff had made it out alive, but without Seeder to guide him, would he join the alliance, or try and stick it out on his own? Would he be forced to kill the man himself?

A warm hand squeezing his pulled Haymitch out of his dark thoughts. He was surprised to see Katniss watching him with a unusually tender expression.

"I know it can't be easy seeing your friends' faces up there."

"I knew it was going to happen," he said heavily. "It's no surprise."

At least he could comfort himself with the fact that District 3 and 7 were all alive. Hopefully they had teamed up and were still planning on meeting him tomorrow.

As they finished up their meal, Katniss gave a soft exclamation. The others looked over in time to see a silver parachute land next to her. She immediately unwrapped it, producing a small metal object. They stared at in puzzlement for a while, trying to work it out, until Katniss realised it was a spile. She pushed herself to her feet, and headed for the nearest tree. She pushed the spile in, and after a few moments, clear liquid started to pour out.

Mags began to gather it in a bowl, but Haymitch grabbed it before she could try any. "What if it's poisonous?" he asked.

"Are you suggesting we ignore the water pouring out of the tree and just die of thirst?" Finnick asked.

"No," Haymitch said in resignation, and watched apprehensively as Mags gulped down some water. She passed it to Finnick with a big smile on her face, and Haymitch reluctantly took some water from the spile himself. He had to admit, after a day in that humid stew, it tasted delicious and invigorating. Who could blame him for being cautious though? The plants and water had killed half the tributes in his Quell.

"We should get some rest, set off early in the morning," Finnick said, glancing at Haymitch. He was as keen to meet up with the others as the older man was. Besides, sitting in this too-bright night-time was making them nervous. All except for Haymitch. He actually preferred a night time where he could see easily. "Who's taking first watch?"

"I might as well," Haymitch offered. "Not like I'm going to be getting much sleep anyway."

A couple of hours in, Haymitch didn't feel any more tired really, but he did feel weary. It was the sort of exhaustion that came from emotional and physical stress – and probably the lack of drink – and he supposed he should perhaps try and get some rest. He didn't bother waking Finnick though. He knew he would never sleep, not at night, so he let the younger man rest.

Katniss was struggling in her sleep, thrashing as though she was trying to fight off some unseen attacker. Those dreams seemed too familiar to Haymitch.

An interminable amount of time later, a gong started to toll. Not one that heralded a death, but something else entirely. Haymitch remembered Darius' message: count. He had thought it meant bread, but perhaps not? He counted the gongs right up to twelve, frowning. Nothing seemed to happen once they had finished, no announcements.

He jumped as lighting struck a tree on the other side of the arena, and he saw Katniss' staring face lit up in the woven shelter. "Can you not do that?" he snapped.

"What were those gongs?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. Aside from lightning striking the tree, nothing happened after the twelfth gong." He gave an involuntary shudder that was out of place in the humid environment, and Katniss eyed him.

"You should get some sleep while you can," she suggested. "We don't know how long we'll have during the day. I can take over for a while."

"Sure, I'll just curl up with old pointy here," he said, waving his knife. "And you wake me up when it's daylight. No problem."

Katniss gave him a flat look. She knew it was mostly the withdrawal making him so crabby, but neither of them were exactly tolerable people.

"Just go to sleep, Katniss. We both know there's no point me trying."

She nodded reluctantly, lying back down. Both of them knew he wasn't going to be sleeping tonight. Haymitch spent the next part of the evening watching his hands tremble and trying to ignore how sick he felt. Maybe some water would help. He glanced up to decide which tree to tap, when he saw the mist.

It was moving, but not with a rolling front, like normal mist. Instead tendrils reached out, as though feeling for victims. Even if it hadn't been behaving strangely or looked so dense, Haymitch wouldn't trust anything 'natural' he saw in the arena. He just cursed himself for not paying better attention.

"Wake up!" he barked at the others. "Get up, we have to get away from this mist!"

Finnick was up in a shot, grabbing Mags and hauling her onto his back. Katniss was awake immediately too, tearing down the hill after Finnick. Haymitch, despite the fact he was the one who raised the alarm, was lagging behind.

The younger man was surprisingly quick for someone carrying another person, and he kept slowing to shout at them to hurry.

Haymitch ran, though his every move felt sluggish compared to Finnick and Katniss, and his chest heaved with the effort.

If only he could stop damn trembling.

Katniss was crying out in pain as the mist ravaged her, and Haymitch pressed on, thundering through the undergrowth in an attempt to catch up to Finnick.

His legs were shaking now, and he stumbled into a tree. Katniss appeared out of nowhere like a vision, dragging him onward by the wrist. She was unsteady from pain, confusion and tiredness, but seemed to have more stamina right now than him.

It wasn't long before they were both gasping for air and tumbling through the jungle, and eventually they both fell into a heap with the mist still encroaching, its tendrils burning them. At that moment, Finnick reappeared, looking worried. "What's wrong?"

"Go," Haymitch wheezed. "I can't–"

"No!" Katniss shouted, but the mist was coming. He could see it reflected in her eyes.

Haymitch didn't even have to say a word, and Finnick dragged Katniss away. As they built up momentum, she was running for her life too now. The both of them were so swift without him holding them back.

He wasn't going to give in if he could help it though. Haymitch pushed himself back to his feet, muscles aching in protest, legs quaking, and set off at a run again. What had he been thinking, coming back here? He'd been thinking he could save Peeta. He'd been thinking of the fact that he didn't completely trust Finnick to carry out the rebellion's plans for Katniss. Haymitch was too cynical to trust anyone completely, he'd seen what the Games did to people's minds.

He could just about see the beach ahead, when his strength gave out, and he staggered to his knees. He could feel the mist drawing closer, and was certain he would die.

Finnick appeared, hauling him into a fireman's carry and limping towards the beach. It was only a few metres away, and they both collapsed there, not far from where Katniss lay at the water's edge, unable to go on.

Mags was not far from her, curled up on her side, either alive or dead. Haymitch hadn't heard a boom, but who could say whether one had gone?

They watched as the mist rolled up against an invisible barrier – a force field, here? Then it pulled back into the forest, as though it were a sentient being that was being called away.

None of them could move, and Haymitch felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. He heard a woman cry out in pain, and knew it was Katniss. He knew he needed to get up and help her, but he couldn't. He'd failed so many times already. He was physically a wreck. The only sleep he'd had all night would be in the form of unconsciousness.

Haymitch was startled out of his daze by white hot pain on his arm. For a second, he thought the mist had returned, and he flailed in shock and horror, until he heard Katniss saying, "Calm down, calm down! The water, it helps."

He looked at her blearily, noting that she seemed fine, other than the scabs on her skin from where the mist had ravaged her. They were particularly bad on her face, which had been exposed to the mist too directly. She didn't seem to be in pain anymore though, so Haymitch took her word on the water.

She delivered shells full of water to him, encouraging him to remove his suit as she had done to make sure he got all of the burns. Once he was somewhat recovered, they worked together to bring Mags and Finnick the same relief. The old woman had been particularly ravaged, and he wasn't sure whether it was due to age or because she had been acting as a barrier between Finnick's back and the mist. She floated in the water, seeming peaceful, but looking like hell.

"Why would you save my life, Finnick?" Katniss murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"Let's rest up," Haymitch suggested, though he knew he wasn't going to get any sleep with that ripe moon still in the sky. If the arena itself didn't kill him, he wouldn't be surprised if exhaustion did.


	7. Chapter 7

"I need a drink," Haymitch announced to the other three.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and Peeta will send some white liquor down?" Katniss suggested with a slight smile.

"I mean water, smart ass." He retrieved the spile that she'd thankfully stowed in her suit, and headed for a suitable tree, trying to ignore the itching of his burns, and failing miserably. The water poured out into a new woven bowl that Finnick had made.

A slight sound attracted Haymitch's attention, and he caught sight of something on the periphery of his vision, though he didn't look up. The slightest thing could turn mutts fierce, he knew that, and whatever was up there was _big. _It put the carnivorous rodents in his Games to shame.

He stepped back from the tree slowly, intended to back up to the shoreline. Hopefully if he didn't make eye contact, it wouldn't move. If it did, Katniss and Finnick should swim for the Cornucopia. The District 4 tribute knew that was where they were to meet their other allies, and he could take over for Haymitch until Beetee arrived with a way to take down the force fields.

"Katniss..." he called softly.

"I know..." was her tense response.

So, the creatures were there too. There was a good several metres between him and his allies, and he wasn't sure he'd make it. "Katniss... you... Mags... and Finnick... need to go... swim... for the Cornucopia."

The beasts were converging, moving around him in the way that predators will encircle the prey. Single out the weakest link, the old or the sick – or in his case, both – and attack. He would try to outrun them if he could. Maybe he could even reach the water, he still had this floatation device.

A split-second before he'd made the decision to run, the beasts seemed to sense it, and one came flying at him in a flurry of claws and teeth. Haymitch impaled it on his spear, shrugging the beast off and defending himself as another one swung down from the trees. He smacked it away before it could rip a hole in his face, but he felt a blinding pain as claws made contact with his back.

"No!" Katniss shrieked, and he felt the creature thud into him lifelessly as an arrow took it in the vitals.

Haymitch was trying to press back towards the beach, but the creatures – he thought they might be monkeys – were regrouping and attacking with disturbing co-ordination. With a sinking feeling, he heard Finnick shout, "Katniss!" followed by quick footfalls.

In the din of screeching monkeys and bodies flying at him, he sensed Katniss arrive, taking down monkeys with her arrows. A moment later, Finnick had joined them, using his trident with expertise to kill the creatures.

Haymitch wanted to shout at her to run, to stop being so stupid and leave him behind, but all his energy was going into stopping himself from being mauled. He impaled beast after beast on his spear, trying to get in a lethal hit when he could, but mostly just trying to keep them away.

Without even realising it was happening, he could see they were being split up. He caught a glance at Katniss and Finnick, who were metres apart, and not behind him as before. How had that happened, were the monkeys that capable of tactical manoeuvring? With mutts, you could never be sure.

Haymitch watched in horror as Katniss fired her last arrow, taking a monkey straight in the head before it could tear Finnick's head off. Another soon arrived to cover it though, and she raised her bow as though it were a shield. It would offer no protection against those creatures.

He struggled to reach her, but the beasts were blocking his path, desperate for his blood. A woman screamed in pain.

And then, it was over. The monkeys retreated like the mist, drawn by some unheard summons. Haymitch looked to see Katniss, to make sure she wasn't too badly hurt. He quickly realised though that she wasn't the one who had screamed. It was Mags. He'd thought she'd stayed behind, out of the fight, knowing that she would be no use there. But he'd forgotten that she came into the arena with the same purpose as him – to protect the Mockingjay, whatever the cost. And she had done that far better than him, at the cost of her life.

Katniss stood there disconsolately, watching the woman who had just saved her life slipping into death. Finnick fell to his knees, taking the frail old woman into his arms tenderly. She whispered something to him. Haymitch's ears couldn't decipher it, but Finnick drank it up like a man dying of thirst. He gave her a sad smile, and she stroked his cheek, tears gathering in her eyes. When they glazed over, they knew she was gone. None of them moved.

Finnick looked up, and Haymitch expected to see an accusation there, for bringing down the muttations on them. All he saw was pure grief. As a victor, death was something they knew too well. Finnick had already been a mentor long enough to have seen his tributes die repeatedly. It never got any easier though, and he had known Mags longer than most. She was a grandmother to him, and he'd lost her to save a girl he barely knew, for a rebellion that could cost him everything.

They returned to the beach with Mags, where Finnick weaved garlands for her body. It was too reminiscent of Katniss's final moments with Rue, and the girl couldn't hide her tears. She sank her face into Haymitch's shoulder, and he held her as she sobbed silently, her shaking the only indication.

Finnick finally let Mags slip into the water and be taken by hovercraft. His mouth was moving in some private goodbye, but they couldn't hear the words.

"You okay?" Haymitch asked quietly.

She hardened herself, pulling away. "I need to go collect my arrows from the bodies. I'm all out."

"I'll go," Finnick immediately offered. He got to his feet, his face calm, but the sheen of tears on his eyes spoke volumes. They nodded, knowing he would need time alone. It didn't seem like the monkeys would return now that their bloodlust was sated, and besides, he had his trident while Katniss was weaponless right now.

They set up camp on the beach to wait out the remainder of the night, and by the time Finnick had returned, his face blotchy and tear-stained, Katniss had fallen into a fitful sleep. Haymitch tried to hold her arms to stop her scratching her scabs so much, but it just made her thrashing worse so he let go. He wondered if she was dreaming of the attack they'd just suffered, or her last Games, or some horror her mind had thought up on its own.

Instead, he settled himself next to her, and let her head rest against his knee as he smoothed her hair soothingly. He wasn't sure why, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. It didn't stop the scratching, but it seemed to reach her subconscious, and she stopped jerking fitfully.

Haymitch smiled in satisfaction, and continued to smooth her hair. It was gratifying to offer this meagre help, knowing that so far he'd had to rely on two other people – one of whom had died in the process – to keep Katniss alive. In fact, in the last fight, she'd almost gotten herself killed coming back to help him. He'd thought that with Peeta out of the way, she might be less inclined to martyrdom, but apparently not. He should have known – how many people offered to take their family's place as a tribute?

It would only be worse after the 74th Games. It had been the same for him. That need to save lives instead of take them. Especially after his family were murdered, he needed to do _something_. He'd desperately tried to keep his tributes alive, year after year. But what was he supposed to do with frightened, starved kids, who had only a few days to learn how to use a weapon, no skills and not even any decent stylist to make them more appealing to sponsors. He hadn't even had Effie then. Every one of those tributes had died. Some straight away, heading into the Cornucopia bloodbath when he told them to stay away. Some did stay away, but without survival skills, they died of hunger, of thirst. Most of them didn't even have enough sponsorship to send them a loaf of bread on the first day.

He'd already started to drink by that point. The only other mentor of District 12 was years' deep in the bottle, and when piles of dead tributes were added to his nightmares, Haymitch soon followed. The two of them drank themselves into a stupor, him increasingly snappish and abrasive, her dead-eyed and distant. They reached an unspoken agreement to stop trying. He supposed he'd traded in a little of his humanity with that decision.

Haymitch frowned at the sleeping girl, still smoothing her ruined hair back from her skin. _Why would you want to save me?_

Apart from the scratching, Katniss almost looked to be sleeping peacefully now.

The second parachute fell silently to his feet, and Haymitch scooped it up. Inside was a large tube of some kind of cream. He sniffed at it and squeezed a bit onto his hand. It must be useful for something, and since Peeta was the main provider of gifts, it would be something that he thought Katniss would need.

Since he couldn't give her an antidote for bad dreams, Haymitch had a sneaking suspicion what it was. He rubbed some paste onto his burn scars, and was rewarded when they cooled and the itching stopped. He quickly woke the others so that the three of them could finally get some relief.

As dawn began to break, the first piece of bread came, a fishy loaf. Haymitch eyed it. Count. Count the bread. Well there was only one here, did that mean that there was only one day left to wait? He would only find out when they received more to confirm a pattern. Until then, they had allies to meet up with.

...

The others arrived ahead of schedule, tumbling onto the beach not far from where they were. Covered in some red mess – which looked disturbingly like blood – it was hard to tell who they were. When Haymitch drew closer though, he could make out Johanna's infuriated shouting, and guessed the person ambling around was Wiress.

"Johanna!" Finnick called, running over to meet her.

The girl looked unbelievably relieved to see them, but couldn't hold her temper with Wiress, who was bumping into her saying 'tick-tock'. Johanna shoved her away, and Katniss snapped "You leave her alone!"

Johanna looked at her disbelievingly for a moment, before smacking Katniss hard across the face, smearing her with blood. Finnick dragged her towards the sea to wash her off as Johanna shouted "I got them out of there for you! For _you_!"

Katniss frowned. "What does she mean?"

"You wanted Nuts and Volts as allies, sweetheart, and Finnick wouldn't join us without Johanna, so I told her she had to fetch them to us," Haymitch lied through his teeth.

"More secret plans, Haymitch?" she asked in annoyance.

_Just you wait, sweetheart, I've saved the best 'til last. _That was starting to bother him. He wasn't sure how pleased she would be when she found out the truth behind all this. It was for her own good... but he wasn't entirely sure sometimes whether he was doing this because he wanted to see the rebellion spark, or because he wanted to stop the Capitol taking the last two people he cared about. The rebellion, he told himself sternly. That was most important.

Katniss took Wiress down to the water to wash her off as the woman mumbled 'tick tock' at her.

Haymitch looked from Wiress to Beetee, who was lying prone on the sand. One of his techs was out of her mind, the other seemed at death's door. Just perfect. How did he kill the force field without someone who understood electrical currents, wiring and circuits?

He went to Beetee to give him what help he could, washing and binding the wound on his back under Katniss' instruction. He looked at least a little more hale once he was no longer covered in blood. There was something clutched in Beetee's hand, delicate gold wire, wrapped around a spool.

Haymitch hid a grin. Whatever Beetee had in mind to take down the arena, this wire was key. He supposed the rebel insider must have planted it among the weapons, knowing that they would need to shut down the force field to leave. That meant it had to be one of the gamemakers. Definitely a risky but valuable position for a rebel.

Now they had the main body of the team together. They just needed Beetee to convalesce enough to do his part so that Katniss could be taken to safety, and the rebellion could truly begin.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: The finale! Thank you for reading. :)

...

It was a battered, depressed group that left the Cornucopia.

They'd gone there to regroup, and see if any other allies would make it to them. It didn't seem a good sign that none did. Wiress had been killed by Gloss, but not before Katniss was able to work out her clues about the nature of the arena: that it was a clock.

Of course, that was when the gamemakers had decided to shake things up – literally. They'd been swung around on the Cornucopia, until Finnick had to swim out and fetch Beetee. No doubt that would help slow down the man's recuperation. They were just lucky that Katniss – the only person who had no idea what it was for – had thought to retrieve the wire from Wiress's body.

They set up a camp on the beach, no one certain what to do yet. At the moment, mapping the arena seemed like the best idea, but no one wanted to venture too close to find out what was lurking in the other sections. Whatever dismembered people was best left alone. And he wasn't sure that he personally could face blood rain.

Katniss went into the jungle to forage, and Haymitch left her to it. Finnick had gone with her, and he could help the girl much more easily than an old drunk. No, Haymitch was best off staying on the beach with Beetee and seeing what the other man had to say about his wire.

Whatever Beetee did have to say though, Haymitch didn't get to know, because they all froze at the sound of a girl's voice screaming for Katniss.

"Prim?" he said, dumbfounded. What could her sister be doing here? It had to be a trap, a trick. More screaming sounded from the jungle.

The three of them got to their feet, Johanna with her axes out already. Haymitch retrieved his spear. He knew this must just be a recording, designed to make Katniss careless, but he was worried it would work. And besides, he knew how awful it was to be helpless as you heard your loved ones suffer.

Only a few metres into the tree line, Johanna hit an invisible barrier, slamming backwards into the ground as her own momentum worked against her. For a moment, Haymitch thought she'd been electrocuted, but she was fine. Just bruised and angry. They tentatively touched the invisible barrier. It wasn't a force field, not like the others, but it was stopping them from getting in for some reason.

Or stopping Katniss from getting out? Haymitch just hoped Finnick alone would be enough help to her.

The two arrived looking distraught, but otherwise unharmed. On Haymitch's side, they tried to warn then about the barrier, but the sound was completely blocked.

That was when the birds swooped down. Sickness clawed up his throat as he thought for a second that he might see Katniss die in exactly the same way as Maysilee Donner. Then he realised what the birds were, and where the sound had come from.

Finnick was already huddled in a ball on the floor, while Katniss tried to shoot down every bird hopelessly.

Haymitch clawed at the barrier, trying to get through, to help stop what he knew she must be hearing – the sound of every person she loved, being hurt, screaming for her. It was a sound he had heard many times in his head, but never out loud. His loved ones had been killed as example, but he'd never seen it happen. They were already dead when he returned from the Games, their bodies waiting for him.

"They'll have used the voices from interviews, and digitally altered them to make these sounds," Beetee explained, concerned but rational. He seemed to be trying to figure out a way to disable the barrier, while Haymitch and Johanna just hammered on it uselessly.

Katniss was huddled on the floor now too, so close that Haymitch could have touched her – hugged her, slapped her. Anything to remind her of what was real and what wasn't.

It seemed the ultimate cruelty, that Finnick and Katniss – who still had people they loved out there – were forced to listen to them in pain, while Haymitch and Johanna, had no one. No one but the people they were watching suffer right now.

It went on for such a long time, to the point that Haymitch had shouted himself hoarse, even though he knew it was pointless. Johanna's knuckles were bloody from pounding on the barrier. And then, it finally dropped.

Haymitch carried Katniss back to the beach, while the other two took Finnick. It took a lot of coaxing to bring her back to the real world, and he just held her while she trembled and whispered to herself.

"They weren't really the voices of your family," he explained, calmer than he felt. "The Capitol would have used the voices from their interviews and altered them to upset you."

"It's quite a simple process, really," Beetee added.

"But what about Peeta?" Katniss pleaded. "I heard him too! What if they're still angry about the berries? Or what if I did something wrong in here? What if he did? What if they're torturing him right now?"

She babbled questions as they tried to calm her, almost not noticing the silver parachute that fell down to them. Its package was a golden locket decorated in a Mockingjay, the same one that Effie had given Peeta. His token, the sign that they were a team.

Katniss took it with fumbling hands, seemingly unsure whether it was a trap, and her hands popped the catch, opening the windows. Inside, were pictures of her family, and Gale.

"See?" Haymitch said, trying to make his voice light. "Peeta's telling you he's alive, and your family too. It was just a trick, that's all."

She looked at him uncertainly, and he knew that she was considering that they'd taken this locket from his body. After all, hadn't she jumped to that conclusion when Haymitch gave his token to Finnick? He twisted the bracelet round his wrist, hoping she wasn't falling towards a breakdown.

It was Johanna, of all people, who brought Katniss back to her senses. "Like the Capitol's going to do anything to the precious little sister of the Girl On Fire, she scoffed. Or Peeta, part of the tragic Star Crossed Lovers duo. Imagine something happening to them, there'd be riots in the streets! And we wouldn't want that, would we?!" The last sentence was a furious yell at the cameras.

Katniss stared at her in shock, and it seemed to shake her out of her despair. Haymitch eyed Johanna with concern. That was twice now that she'd let her anger get the best of her, come a little too close to their true purpose for being here together and allying. If killing her was what it took to make sure she didn't reveal anything, then he'd do it, but it would mean risking Finnick's allegiance, and Haymitch knew he couldn't take both of them. In honesty, he didn't want to have to try. He liked these people. But they'd all come into this arena knowing the stakes.

They made camp on the beach, and another parachute reached them. This one with 24 bread rolls of the same type. To represent 24 hours, Haymitch was certain. With the district meaning the day? Now he knew when their escape had to be made. He met Beetee's eyes and saw that the other man had realised it too.

Haymitch sat down next to Katniss, handing her some bread as he wolfed down his own. He felt unbelievably tired and a little twitchy. Aside from a brief nap after Johanna and District 3 had joined them, he hadn't slept since he entered the arena. He doubted he'd be able to sleep tonight though, and tomorrow would be too late.

While they ate, they received their daily update on who was alive and who was dead. Haymitch was relieved to see that Chaff had survived this next day, but if he was alive, why hadn't he come to the Cornucopia? Why hadn't he joined the alliance?

"Haymitch..." Katniss began, stroking Peeta's locket. "I think I need to go."

He looked up. "What?"

"I can't kill these people," she said softly. "And I don't want to watch them die, not another one. Especially not you. It's best I just go it alone." She added quickly, "You don't have to worry about me, I took care of myself alone during my last Game."

"Well, aside from the burn cream, and Rue's antidote to the tracker jacker venom," he pointed out snappily. Why was she bringing up this insane idea now? When they were so close? "Look, sweetheart, you can't leave now. Just stay a bit longer, until Brutus and Enobaria are dead. Then you can roam the arena to your heart's content."

"It might be too late by then," she said uncertainly.

"Please. For me." He placed a hand on her shoulder. There was more tenderness in his voice than he'd probably ever shown her before. He gave a shaky laugh. "I'll go nuts if you're out there with District 2, on top everything else that's screwed up in this arena."

She frowned, looking at him curiously. "Did you mean what you'd told Caesar Flickerman? About feeling like me and Peeta are your kids?"

Haymitch looked away. He didn't want to talk about this, not on camera. It was something that could be used against him, or them. Wasn't it enough that the Capitol had taken his family and girlfriend from him as a boy? But looking into her earnest eyes, he knew he couldn't lie. It might be the last chance to ever say it, for her to realise that protecting her wasn't just about the rebellion.

"Of course I meant it," he said, feeling every word. Katniss nodded. She would stay.

...

The lightning tree was their destination, and Haymitch had felt his eyes drawn to it all night. Beetee's plan sounded like a fairly simple one – wrap his wire round the tree, run it down to the water and electrocute Brutus and Enobaria on the sand. It didn't sound like anything that would affect the force field, but Volts could hardly say anything about that out loud.

There had been no sign of the District 2 tributes for a while, which was making Haymitch uneasy. They weren't in on the alliance, and could mess things up easier than anything the arena clock had to offer. There was nothing that could be done about that though, so he just set to work on the wire with everyone else.

When Beetee instructed the girls to take the wire down to the water, Katniss seemed reluctant to be going with Johanna, but she didn't complain. Haymitch was relieved to see them take off down the hill. What Beetee was doing with the force field would be dangerous, and if it did backfire, they wanted to make sure that Katniss wouldn't be implicated. It was a slim hope, since Snow was looking for any reason to kill her off meaningfully, but that was better than none.

While Finnick stood guard, Haymitch said to Beetee, "This doesn't seem like enough."

"It isn't," Beetee replied. "This is just to make sure we are able to harness the lightning. I'll need a conduit to finish off."

Haymitch recalled his own Hunger Games, throwing the weapon into the barrier. He wasn't sure whether the force field had charged the weaponry, but surely a metal weapon could conduct enough electricity through the wired tree and into the force field?

He handed Beetee a knife, hilt first. "Make sure you get it in their heart."

The smaller man gave him a smile. "Brutus and Enobaria won't know what hit them."

Haymitch chuckled at that, and the thought of the Capitol masses salivating with excitement, waiting for them to electrocute Brutus and Enobaria. They would get more than a little surprise when their broadcast of the Games was severed.

As soon as the force field was hit, they'd have moments to act. The trackers had to be cut from their arms, and whatever means the rebel insider had for getting them out, they would have to reach it. Considering the terrain, Haymitch assumed it was some form of aircraft, but he wasn't certain if there was a real sky outside the pretend sky above. What if they were underground? Even mentors weren't privileged to know the location of arenas.

Haymitch was watching the other end of wire – the one that Beetee wasn't holding – bob up and down as it was unravelled further down the hill. For a moment, it was pulled taut. And then there was a scraping noise as it came shooting back, whipping against the trees.

"Down!" he yelled, and the three of them dropped. Beetee cried out in pain, and the wire crashed back into the clearing, smacking into the tree as it automatically coiled up.

Haymitch scrambled over to Beetee, where the other man was bleeding from the wire's slash.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he said, clutching a hand to his wound.

"It must be Two!" Finnick yelled. "They've gone after Johanna and Katniss!"

"Go!" Haymitch ordered, before turning back to Beetee. "You make good use of that knife."

The other man nodded, and began winding a bit of wire around the blade. Haymitch knew he could be trusted to do his job, but he needed to make sure that Katniss was here, and alive when that force field fell.

Haymitch took off down the hill, not sure if he was following the same route as the girls – or even Finnick, for that matter, but he kept pressing forwards. That sick feeling rose up in him, the winded breath, but he ignored it and looked.

He could hear Finnick now, shouting for the girls, but there was no reply, so Haymitch didn't go to him. They might be around here somewhere, injured but alive.

The sounds of a fight reached him, and he tore through the undergrowth, locating the source of the noise. He burst through a clearing into the scene of Johanna and Brutus facing off. The girl was fierce, but he was much older, and had trained to kill since he was a young child. Not only that, but Johanna already had a set of bloody teeth marks on her throat, and Haymitch realised that Enobaria was – or had been – here for the fight too.

As Haymitch readied his spear, Johanna swung an axe towards Brutus' leg. The Career blocked it with his sword, bringing his fist down hard against her face. Johanna staggered backwards, looking dazed.

Haymitch charged forwards with his spear. He didn't have any proper training, the most exercise he'd done until the announcement of the Quell was walking from his house to the Hob to buy more drink. He also had the priority of protecting Katniss, but he knew he couldn't run from this fight. Even if guilt wasn't driving him on, he knew that if he ran, Brutus would kill Johanna and then cut him down. So he fought.

He thrust the spear towards the shoulder of Brutus's sword arm, but the man twisted his body out of reach with remarkable speed. Brutus returned with a swipe from his sword that would have taken Haymitch's leg if he hadn't stumbled backwards and caught his foot on a root, falling out of range.

As he jumped back to his feet, Johanna imbedded her axe in the shoulder of Brutus' offhand arm. He howled in pain, and dropped his sword, reaching for Johanna's neck, inadvertently smacking her head backwards into a tree. This time when she dropped, she didn't get up.

Haymitch lunged for the sword while Brutus was distracted, and as he backed away with the weapons, he felt a sudden weight crash into his back, bringing him down. Teeth buried into the skin where his neck met his shoulder. He cried out in pain, twisting round and slamming the end of his spear into Enobaria's thigh, breaking the metal tip off as he did so.

She shoved herself off him, clawing at the metal that was imbedded in her leg. Haymitch struggled to his feet, hands scrabbling in the grass for the fallen sword, as Enobaria limped off into the trees, following the shouts.

Shouts!

Just as his searching fingers reached the sword's hilt, Brutus punched him in the face. Haymitch reeled backwards, slashing with the sword to try and keep the Career at bay. If Brutus was afraid at all though, he didn't show it. Instead, he charged like a raging bull, and Haymitch thrust the sword forwards as he regained his footing.

The blade punched into Brutus' abdomen, but he didn't stop, using his momentum to crash Haymitch backwards into a tree. The wind was knocked out of him, one hand still clamped to the sword, the other reaching up to try and claw at Brutus's hand as it enclosed his throat. How was the man still so strong with a sword sticking out of him? Haymitch realised belatedly that Enobaria wasn't the only victor to have themselves surgically altered by the Capitol.

Haymitch thrust his thumbs into Brutus's eyes, and the man howled with rage, smacking Haymitch's head backwards into the tree until he stopped. His vision was swimming so much, he couldn't even see if he'd managed to blind him. Brutus's fingers closed tighter, and the air Haymitch was trying to gasp stopped reaching his lungs. He struggled for the sword, but it was jammed between them. He was going to die here, and he didn't even know if Katniss was still alive, never mind if she was out. He could just make out a pink sky in his dimming vision. Still in the arena. He'd failed...

Hot red blood splattered Haymitch's face, and the pressure on his neck ceased. He fell to his knees, struggling to breathe in ragged gasps. He could make out Brutus reeling away from him, one hand clamped to his throat as blood streamed through his fingers, the other yanking the sword out of his own stomach. Brutus took a few lurching stems towards Chaff – burned, bleeding, grim-faced Chaff – before collapsing face-forward into the dirt.

Chaff immediately came to help Haymitch up. "Are you alright? I'm with you, friend. What do you need me to do?"

"Go," he gasped. "Go – help Katniss – she has to – get – out."

Chaff squeezed his shoulder and darted back into the trees, and Haymitch felt like laughing hysterically. He didn't know whether he was glad that Chaff hadn't turned on him after all, or whether it was the air in his lungs again, or maybe he was just going mad.

A moment later, the most beautiful sight in the world assaulted his senses. A deep reverberating boom sounded as lightning struck the high tree that was their battery, and a moment later, the force field shook. Then it fell. The metal dome that had been hidden by the fake sky was visible now, falling in on itself, chunks of metal screeching as they parted from the ceiling and crashed into the arena.

Through the din, he heard the blades of a hovercraft, and the dark shape filled the growing holes in the arena's roof.

Haymitch moved over to Johanna, checking her pulse. Still alive. He slapped her face lightly, trying to bring her back to wakefulness. She struggled groggily, and he yanked her up to her feet. He wasn't even sure if he could get them back to the hovercraft, they'd come so far, but they had to try and get out somehow.

"Wake up!" he yelled at Johanna, as he half-dragged her over the jungle's undergrowth, towards the hovercraft. "The force field's down and we're getting out of here!"

That broke through. "The trackers! We have to get them out!"

She was right. He grabbed one of the knives from her belt, and began digging it out of her arm. It was bleeding and he was making a mess, but there was no time. Wherever they went with those trackers in, the Capitol could follow. As hers came out, they started running towards the hovercraft, which was suspended by the lightning tree, its cable claw descending. Haymitch tore at his arm to get his own tracker out.

He managed to work the thing free just as something caught his foot, slamming him into the forest floor and dragging him backwards. He twisted, but it was locked tight around his foot, like one of the snares Katniss used for hunting.

As he lurched to a halt, he saw the guns trained on him, heard Johanna's shouts as she struggled. Soldiers bled out of the jungle like ghosts, surrounding them. There was no escape.

As he looked up from where he lay in the arena, he saw the small body the hovercraft's claw was clutching, and he knew instinctively that Katniss was cradled within. She was out. She was going to the rebels, and with any luck, Peeta was in there with her.

Haymitch smiled, seeing his little Mockingjay soaring into the sky, content with the knowledge that it might be the last thing he ever saw. He had succeeded. The revolution had begun.


End file.
